


Night Walker

by Dangereuse



Series: Tomarry D&D-athon [12]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: An emotional one, And a few carnal ones, But Harry has no Shame, M/M, Tom has a feel, brief slut shaming, escort!au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:53:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23747890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dangereuse/pseuds/Dangereuse
Summary: Harry knocked on the door only two minutes late. Which was an achievement for him. He had his smile fixed before the door even swung open.“You’re not who I ordered.”Ugh. Rude. Harry kept smiling, perfect. “No. Emergency substitution.” He looked down, traced the client up from the tips of his perfectly overshined leather loafers to the one ridiculous perfect curl falling over his forehead on the left side. He made it obvious, finished it up with a small bite on his lower lip. “You’re lucky enough to get me instead.”The man snorted. Then he dropped his hand down from the doorsill and let Harry inside. “You’re not even blond,” he complained.Harry shrugged and swanned in, getting close enough that his shoulder brushed against the man’s lean chest. “I promise I have an even better skill set.”
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Series: Tomarry D&D-athon [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1692079
Comments: 6
Kudos: 206





	Night Walker

Harry knocked on the door only two minutes late. Which was an achievement for him. He had his smile fixed before the door even swung open.

“You’re not who I ordered.” 

Ugh. Rude. Harry kept smiling, perfect. “No. I'm an emergency substitution.” He looked down, traced the client up from the tips of his perfectly overshined leather loafers to the one ridiculous perfect curl falling over his forehead on the left side. He made it obvious, finished it up with a small bite on his lower lip. “You’re lucky enough to get me instead.”

The man snorted. Then he dropped his hand down from the doorsill and let Harry inside. “You’re not even blond,” he complained. 

Harry shrugged and swanned in, getting close enough that his shoulder brushed against the man’s lean chest. “I promise I have an even better skill set.” 

The man snorted. “We’ll see. Take a seat,” he ordered. 

Harry shrugged and hopped on the bar countertop, rather than the indicated barstool. He crossed his legs at the ankles, put his hands behind his back to arch it and smiled. 

The man’s jaw clenched for a brief second and Harry crowed internally at getting a rise out of him. Uptight arsehole. Harry swung his legs. 

The man shook it off, strode over to a desk. 

“First order of business.” His long fingers pulled a small sheaf of parchment, dropped it uncermoniously in Harry’s lap. “Basic NDA. I trust you can read.”

Harry rolled his eyes inside. As if Hermione at the agency hadn’t beaten basic NDA guidelines into his head so he could probably  _ write  _ one in his sleep. He bat his eyelashes instead. “Somedays it’s a struggle, but I try my  _ very best _ .” He looked down at the parchment. It was the same NDA that had been owled over at the start of the evening. Harry paged through it just to be sure, pressing one finger to the watermarked binding runes and feeling their charge, before looking up.

The man was giving him a dead eyed stare. Harry fluttered his eyelashes again, and that cheek muscle did not disappoint. “I assume you want me to sign?”

The man’s jaw clenched again. It was a shame it did such nice things to his jawline, and that cheek muscle jumped so attractively. Now that Harry knew, he was pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to quit. 

He flicked his wrist, summoned a quill. He signed in bright bottle green ink, because he just knew this man was one of those wizards who didn’t sign contracts in anything but blue or black. He looked up, expecting to see that small cheek clench again. 

Instead the man looked interested for the first time all evening, slightly hungry, anticipatory. He was staring at the quill in Harry’s hand. Harry wanted to roll his eyes. Trust him to be attracted to power.

“Wandless conjuration,” he murmured. 

Harry yawned, Vanished the quill the way the same way it came. “Alright, Minister Riddle. What can I interest you in this fine evening?” 

Riddle scowled. “For the remainder of tonight you may call me Sir.”

Harry smiled, purposefully bland. “Of course,  _ sir _ ,” he parroted, not meaning it at all. He hopped off the countertop, strode over to Riddle with a little sway in his step. 

Riddle was wearing muggle style trousers. Harry approved of his stylistic choices, if not his politics, and hooked his fingertips in the belt buckles. “What can I interest you in this evening, _sir_?”

Riddle grabbed his wrists with those exquisitely long fingered hands. He squeezed, tight enough that it felt like a threat, and unhooked Harry’s fingers from his belt loops. Then he jerked Harry’s left arm, twirled him in a short, vicious jerk, and using Harry’s momentum to cross Harry’s wrists behind his back. Harry let out a little ‘oof’, and was glad his face was turned away from Riddle so he could smile  _ for real _ . 

“I never said you could touch.” Riddle hissed. 

“Oh?” Harry asked, and rode his hips back into Riddle, taking pride in how he could feel Riddle hot and thickening against the crack of his arse. “Would you like me just to watch,  _ sir _ ?” He breathed out, insolent. 

Riddle’s fingers tightened on his wrists, tight enough that Harry was certain they would bruise, and then Harry found himself being marched through the suite to the bedroom. He went with it. 

Riddle tossed him on the bed with a truly unnecessary shove, in Harry’s opinion. He kept his hands behind his back but curled just a little to his shoulder so he could grin back at Riddle over his shoulder. Then he brought his ankles up, and crossed them again, coy. He just knew this man had  _ feelings  _ about shoes in the vaguest proximity to the bed. 

True to his guess, Riddle snarled and dove for Harry’s shoes, navy canvas slip ons. Harry kept still as they ended up on the other side of the room. He wriggled his toes when they were free. 

“It’s extra to damage my wrapping,  _ sir _ .” Harry snarked. He kept his hands perfectly in place, even though absolutely nothing was holding him in place any more. 

Riddle paused. He bent over Harry, brought their faces close. He looked at Harry, really looked, and a bright sharp looking grin took over his face. “Is that so?” His big hand threaded into Harry’s hair, holding him half-perched on one shoulder. “How unfortunate.” He hooked his hand in the back of Harry’s muggle v-neck t-shirt and pulled. 

The shirt tugged against the column of his neck, the elastic collar tightening before it gave with a wet-sounding  _ shrip _ . The shirt came to tangle around Harry’s wrists and Riddle’s mouth crashed down on his. 

It wasn’t a kiss as much as a mauling. Riddle’s lips were vicious, demanding, and his teeth felt sharper than a human’s could possibly be. Harry gave as good as he got, before he sucked, hard, and drew Riddle’s tongue into his mouth. 

Riddle made a small noise in the back of his throat, surprised pleasure. The hand tightened in Harry’s hair until his scalp felt like it was burning. 

“You’re definitely not what I asked for.” Riddle snarled. His curl was loose, falling astray across his forehead. Harry wanted to pull it, see if it would bounce. 

Harry shrugged, smiled sly out of the corner of his bruising mouth. “Perhaps I’m what you wanted, instead.” He moved, hands coming from behind his back to stroke down Riddle’s lean chest. He shoved. 

Riddle’s eyes widened with shock, and it felt like time paused for a brief second before gravity decided it would apply to him and actually make him fall. Harry followed him down, swinging his thigh over Riddle’s and moving to effortlessly straddle him. 

Riddle’s hands shot to Harry’s hips, tight angry claws. His mouth was swelling a pretty pink, curled into a vicious snarl. For a half-second he saw the straight malice in Riddle’s eyes, ready to dump him on his back or maybe to the floor. Better cut that impulse off. 

Harry ground down, riding the line of Riddle, thick and hot through his trousers. Oh,  _ yes _ . That was going to feel so good. He threw his head back, just worked his hips over Riddle’s thick length, anticipating how thick it would feel, how deep it would reach. He couldn’t wait to see, couldn’t wait to feel it hot in his hand, slicked up in his arse. 

Riddle’s hands softened on his hips, and Harry had to look down, to look at his face. Riddle’s irises were blown, and Harry had always wondered, seeing his photo on promotional materials, but here, close like this, they looked actually  _ red _ . Harry grinned at him. “Would you like me to ride you, sir?” He worked his hips and drew out the vowel in  _ sir _ , make it sound truly ridiculous. 

“I’d like you to take off those ridiculous excuse for trousers before I Vanish them,” Riddle snarled. “They feel like sandpaper on the skin,” he complained, the utter prick, like the denim was actually touching him anywhere but where he was clutching Harry’s hips with his hands. Traditional wizards and muggle denim. 

Harry pouted, big and fake, then leaned down and kissed Riddle. This time he kept it soft, but deep, just running his lips across Riddle’s own. Merlin, they were unfairly plush, pretty and pink, and Harry let himself  _ savor _ . 

Riddle’s hand shot again to his hair before long, twisting in and pulling, bringing him close enough to bite. Harry bit back instead of snorting into his mouth. Sadist. 

Harry had been doing this a long time, and it was easy to pull the waist of his jeans down with one hand, and kick them the rest of the way with his legs. He took his pants down too, not impressed with Riddle’s patience. Then he leaned back, arched his back for full affect, and licked his swollen achey lips. 

Harry knew his cock was a nice one, and he let himself bring his hand down, give himself a little stroke. Riddle’s eyes tracked his hand, and Harry tried not to smirk. He ground down. “Do I get to see you too?” Harry asked, purposefully leaving off the  _ sir _ . 

It took Riddle a moment, a long glorious moment where Harry stroked his thumb over the slit in the head of his dick, before his hand snapped up, and gripped Harry by the neck. He pulled Harry back down. 

“No,” he clipped. He pulled Harry up, to the side, to his hands and knees. He rolled behind him, grip still around Harry’s throat. He gave a warning squeeze, before he released him with a lambent stroke down his front. 

For the first time, Riddle’s touch was soft, almost reverent, caressing Harry’s sides. Harry couldn’t help but shiver under those hands. He stroked the lines of Harry’s shoulders. Brushed a hand down Harry’s stomach. Stroked his flanks. Kneaded the flesh of his ass. His fingers were almost chilled, but his touch burned, and Harry arched into it. 

“Beautiful,” he whispered, so quiet Harry wasn’t sure he even heard. 

Riddle brushed a thumb over Harry’s tailbone. Then he thrust his finger in, where Harry was wet and ready. 

“You’ve worked yourself open.” Riddle said, like it wasn’t obvious. Like he was...disappointed. Then his tone changed. 

“ _ Whore, _ ” Riddle snarled, like it was an insult, like it meant anything, like he wasn’t the one soliciting strangers and paying for sex. Harry turned, looked at him over his shoulder. 

“Why yes, I am,” Harry winked, big and bold. “ _ Tom _ .”

Riddle’s face blanked. 

Then his big hand hit the back of Harry’s neck, pushing him face first into the sheets. Then his knee was there, knocking harshly against the insides of Harry’s thighs and spreading him wider. 

He thrust deep in one stroke, brutal and unyielding, sliding deep enough that Harry felt the teeth of his fly against the soft skin of his arse. Harry jerked forward in the sheets, shot his hands out so he didn’t headbutt against the headboard. 

Harry hissed through his teeth, arched his back back down into the thrust. Damn. That was something, a thick pressure in his gut that lit him up to his toes, made him feel like tucking his face away against the sheets. 

“I don’t like that name,” Riddle hissed, and then he leaned forward over Harry. The close quarters, the press of Harry’s skin against the silk of his shirt, his breath in Harry’s ear made him feel even deeper, even closer. “I told you what to call me.”

His hand skated under Harry’s body, reaching down. His long fingers cupped Harry’s cock. He stroked his thumb all along the underside, rubbing him just like Harry had done to himself. Harry squirmed back into his cock as his insides cried out in pleasure. Then Riddle caught the head of his dick with one perfectly manicured nail and flicked. 

Harry hissed as he lit up with pain, tried to writhe away. “Sadist,” he accused. 

Riddle hummed into his ear. “Sometimes,” he admitted, conversational. He turned his face into Harry’s neck, pressed a light kiss there, before drawing the flesh in a deep suck. His teeth were rough, rougher than they’d been on his mouth, and Harry tried not to shrink away. The pain of the marks burned in his gut, turned him hotter. 

Riddle’s next thrust when it came, was soft but deep, and those big hands moved up to Harry’s forearms where they braced besides his head. The long fingers came, wrapped around the entirety of his wrists, pressed him deep in the mattress. 

He kept up at Harry’s neck, sucking deep violet bruises on Harry’s skin. It hurt, hurt all up his spine until it burst into pleasure. His hips were smooth, the slide of him so thick Harry couldn’t help but shiver, even buried under Riddle’s body. Harry felt his eyes roll back into his head. 

“Tell me you’d like to come,” Riddle breathed against his skin. 

Harry flexed back into Riddle’s thrust. “I’d like to come,” he repeated, and Riddle’s hands flexed on his wrists, threatening him to stay in place. 

“Call me sir,” Riddle ordered. He moved one beautiful hand to Harry’s chest, holding him tenderly by the chest for a brief second, before sliding back down Harry’s stomach. 

Harry pulled one side of his face out of the sheets, caught Riddle’s gaze as best he could with one eye. He winked again. 

“Tom,” he panted, worked his hips back, and came. 

The look of shock on Tom’s face was perfect, would fuel Harry’s wank fantasies for the next thousand years. Harry laughed, and there, that perfect cheek clench was  _ perfect _ . 

“You little shit,” Tom hissed, and his hand seized Harry by the back of the neck like he was an unruly pup, dragging him up. 

Harry’s arms pinwheeled for a moment, before he found his balance. He laughed, again, brought his hand back to clutch at Tom for balance. He felt like he was floating, body high and bursting with the feeling of  _ good _ .

Tom thrust, thrust, thrust, and then his hips stilled. He was kissing the back of his neck now, hot and wet and sloppy.His grip tightened on Harry, briefly, before their bodies began to topple slow into the sheets. It was nothing like the push at the start, gentle and soft and Harry let Tom fall atop him. 

Harry let Tom pant into the back of his neck, let him tuck Harry’s arms and legs underneath his own. It was nice, even with Tom’s hip bones slightly bony against the flesh of his arse. He sighed under Tom in the sheets. Just to feel how sore and used he was, he stretched. They lay until Tom’s breathing calmed, grew relaxed. 

Tom finally rolled to the side with a soft caress of Harry’s back. Harry felt wet and loose. He flexed his toes, admired the cool feel of the room against his skin, before he stood. 

Tom came up to rest on one arm, face looking rosy and relaxed. His dick was softing, peeking out from his fly. Harry almost wanted to lean over, suck it into his mouth, wait for it to reharden his mouth. But he’d only been contracted for one and done. He smiled at Tom anyway, hummed a little in the back of his throat. Tom looked good like this, relaxed. 

Harry picked up his pants with clear, efficient motions. He felt loose, tingly, and he didn’t think he could manage a wandless  _ Repairo  _ on his shirt like this. He pulled his wand out of his pocket after he pulled on his trousers and pants. He hissed a little bit tucking his sensitive post-orgasm dick into his pants. 

“You’re leaving.” Tom said, his voice sounding a little hoarse. Harry wasn’t sure if it was a question or a gentle prod out the door. It would be the first time he’d had tact this evening, but Harry had fucked nicer things than tact into people. Maybe Tom was only nice freshly fucked. 

Harry hummed, fixed his shirt. “Oh, yes. I’m not booked for the night, after all.” He gave a little laugh when he pulled on the shirt, and he found he’d fudged the match on the edges of it. He was still tingling, feeling really good and his magic was all over the place, apparently. Oh well, good enough. 

“Oh,” Tom said. 

Harry smiled at him. “Best be out,” he offered. “Have a nice night.”

  
  



End file.
